


the importance of family

by SirenDreams



Series: sins of the past [2]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mentioned John Seed, Mentioned Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Mentioned Sharky Bowshaw, Swearing, Unnamed Chosen, isobel's general disdain for cult leaders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27584929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirenDreams/pseuds/SirenDreams
Summary: Still feeling the effects of being fresh out of the Bliss, Isobel just wants to get some goddamn rest but gets a nasty surprise instead: a meeting with the Father himself.
Series: sins of the past [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676113
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	the importance of family

Isobel knows she shouldn’t go to bed. Not until Sharky comes back— something she had reluctantly agreed to when it became apparent that neither he nor Hurk Jr. would budge on letting her be alone. No matter how badly she wished for it.

The two of them had hovered like worried parents, their concern just as smothering as Nick and Kim’s had been; though if she were being honest Mason’s reaction had been far worse. She’d helped him out on her first— and thus far, only— excursion into the Whitetails, driving away the Peggies that had set up far too close to his home for comfort and becoming fast friends with one another. He’d scarcely wanted to let her leave his cabin in the Whitetails, even with the area having it’s own particular (repeated) set of problems and with his concern for Joey growing greater with every passing day. He’d finally let her go with the promise that she’d take Sharky with her and even then he’d still been far too reluctant.

_Some people don’t come back right once they’ve been in the bliss, Bel. I’m not sayin’ you won’t be ok, just that you shouldn’t be alone. That shit takes a toll. It shows you things, something you want so much you’d give just about anything to have it._

Mason had looked so uncomfortable as he’d said it that she’d almost asked if he knew from experience. If he had, Isobel would’ve done just about anything for him to tell her what it was he’d seen. Would he have been greeted with a vision of John as well? No, he hated him— that was clear as day. Perhaps Joey then? … But if that were true and Isobel herself had seen _John_ , well. That was something she wasn’t quite ready to deal with just yet.

In the end, she’d let it go without a word. Left the cabin behind with Sharky driving— unfortunately for her— like a bat out of hell. He’d pulled into the dirt lot his trailer sat on like he was on the speedway and she’d barely had time to unbuckle her seatbelt before he was circling around to the passenger side with an “ _up and at ‘em, Bel_ ”; rushing her into the trailer like he’d expected her to turn tail and run for the hills. … She’d have been lying if she said she wasn’t tempted, but its not like she’d have gotten far. Not with the vertigo Sharky’s driving had given her coupled with the Bliss still clouding her mind dancing a goddamn two-step on her nervous system.

Because, as it turns out… Mason had been right in the end. Almost a week later and she still didn’t quite feel like herself. The world still bathed in a hazy tinge and full of days where she’d swear she could hear Faith’s laughter in the silence between heartbeats... and where the image of John— _not John_ , she reminds herself sternly, _none of it was real_ — gazing down at her in the cabin room.

Isobel shakes her head, as if the violence with which she excecuted the action could physically shake the thought from her mind and pads through the living room. She won’t go to bed just yet— _I’m just going to lay down, just for a minute. Sharky will understand_ — no matter how badly sleep calls to her and with the moon high in the sky taunting her already weary bones. She promised, after all.

She enters the bedroom, a tad reluctant to sleep— _no. No sleeping_ — to _lay_ on Sharky’s bed— though he’d insisted again and again that it was fine and he wasn’t about to make her stay on the couch because _that would just be rude, Bel, come on! I’m a gentleman! I mean, one that smells like smoke and doesn’t dress all fancy like n’ shit but still. A gentleman!_

And so, mildly annoyed that Mason’s nickname for her had spread like wildfire, she’d finally given in to Sharky’s insistence. She has half the mind to register the open window in the bedroom and to think to herself that she certainly hadn’t opened it; Sharky hadn’t been in the bedroom since this morning either— just long enough to grab a shirt with his hand over his eyes _so you don’t think I’m tryin’ to sneak a peek at’cha._

Not that there would’ve been much to see to begin with, in Isobel’s mind, but a kind thought all the same. She’s reaching for the gun she hid in the dresser, getting as far as one hand on the knob when a looming figure steps into view and clocks her straight on, the blow knocking her back into the doorframe with the beginnings of a blinding headache. Isobel doesn’t have time to react, barely has the time to try and straighten— to brace herself against the doorframe as the next blow falls before she feels herself beginning to slip into unconsciousness.

— _Said unharmed. He’s not gonna be happy._

The response is lost as the darkness closes in, a sudden feeling of weightlessness chasing her further and further into the recesses of her mind.

* * *

When Isobel comes to the world is swaying— no, _she’s_ swaying— precariously balanced on her knees; the hard and unforgiving floorboards doing quite a number on the exposed skin peeking through her ripped jeans. It doesn’t help that her hands are bound, pulled so far behind her back that she can feel her muscles straining, and the revelation that her feet are bound as well does little to help her predicament. Her vision is blurred, everything merely vague shapes in the darkness until suddenly it isn’t and the blindfold that had been restricting her vision is removed— yanked from her head with enough force that she nearly topples over. She’s righted once more by a hand fisted in her dark hair that quickly releases as a voice booms out like thunder— full of disapproval.

“Enough.”

The source of disapproval slowly makes it’s way into her line of sight, flicking candles revealing it to be none other than the Father himself. He crouches before her, mouth pressed in a thin line as he looks her over and reaches out a hand. Isobel tries to shrink back, to avoid his touch as if her very life depends on it— and in her mind, it certainly does— but a stern kick to her legs ends it like a puppet with cut strings.

Joseph looks past her briefly, no doubt giving the Chosen behind her a scathing glare, then lifts her chin— dark blue eyes tinted behind yellow lenses scanning over the cut on her lip and the blooming bruise just above her eye. He lifts his other hand and strokes her hair gently, almost as if she were a child or perhaps an animal in need of soothing before lifting his gave to cast another disapproving stare at the chosen on either side of her.

“I said she was to be brought to me unharmed.”

“We apologize, Father. She tried to resist when we asked her to come with us.”

Isobel laughs darkly, craning her neck to spit at the feet of the cultist closest to her. “Yeah, because you ‘asked’ when you punched me in the face and dragged me out of the house at 10 o’clock at night.”

The Chosen’s face contorts in rage but it’s quickly quelled as Joseph utters his next order.

“Leave us.”

The Chosen nod, turning at once on their heels and exiting the room, pulling the large double doors shut behind them. Joseph stands and walks behind her, carefully untying the rope around her ankles and then the rope around her bound hands.

“I am truly sorry for the way my Chosen have treated you. They were not to harm you; simply to ask that you meet me here.” He closes his eyes as Isobel scrambles away, putting as much distance between them as she can. Not that it will do her much good, trapped as she is in Joseph’s compound— and with no weapons at that.

“What do you want?” She spits, rubbing her aching wrists and staring him down with a baleful glare. “You had your people drag me all the way out here, so what the fuck do you want?” His lips twitch at her words, no doubt the curse in a house of god grating on his nerves, but if he’d like to reprimand her it goes unsaid.

“Simply to talk, Deputy Walters. Nothing more.”

“Then _talk_.” She spits, venom dripping in every word. “There’s no guarantee I’ll listen.”

“You’ve been trying to hinder our progress at every turn, first in Holland Valley and now in the Henbane. I find it strange that you’ve not made any attempts to return to the Valley to wreck more havoc and chaos. Is something keeping you away?”

“Oh yes, I’ve just been waiting to jump at the chance to go be abducted and drowned again by your sadistic little brother.”

She glances up, feigning disinterest and scrambles to her feet in barely controlled panic. He’s crossing to her, _stalking_ her every move, long strides eating up the distance between them faster than she can get away, and then he’s in her space— trapping her against the wooden pulpit with no hope of escape in sight.

“You will be welcomed into the New Eden, but first you must atone and be reborn.” His voice is a hiss, low and full of irritation— or is it anger?— as he yanks her towards him with a fistful of her shirt in his grip. “You _will_ join us, Deputy Walters, one way or another.”

“Why would I ever join you?” Isobel hisses back, with as vehemence as he’d shown her. “ I know your type, my mother fell for the tricks of a man just like you. He thought he talked to god too.” She sneers, pretty features twisted into a scowl. “Lot of good it did her.”

Joseph smiles, a rare dark smile— something more akin to be seen on John than on the Father himself. It’s enough to make Isobel falter, to begin— for the first time since she’d regained consciousness— a sense of fear. She watches with slowly dawning horror as he pulls an all too-familiar phone from his pocket, holding it aloft and clicking the play button. As her own voice sounds from the phone’s tinny speaker, echoing off the high-ceiling of the compound, Isobel feels a silent scream building in her chest.

“You’ve taken good care of her and I appreciate all that you’ve done. But it’s been long enough. I know what’s best for my daughter. Send her here, to Montana. It’s time to bring her home.”

Joseph lowers the phone as the message ends, gesturing towards Isobel with a stone faced stare. 

“I’ve tried and tried, Deputy. Tried to come from a place of love, to show you the way, to encourage you to walk the path. To atone, to join us, and to be saved. To give you the gift of a new eden!” His voice is cold, yet rises in volume with every word. “You refuse me, refuse _us_ at every turn. You left me no choice but to take matters into my own hands; to do whatever it takes to make you see.”

“What have you done?” Isobel whispers, appalled at the message the cult had created with her voice— having taken and twisted snippets of surveillance to create their desired message. “You stay away from my daughter you fucking bastard! How dare you! I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands you sick son of a—“ The doors bust open, two of Joseph’s chosen rushing forward to restrain her as she lunges for the Father, hell-bent on killing the man for daring to involve her daughter in his delusional plans.

“No harm shall come to your daughter, deputy. The sins of my father will not carry on with me.” He walks forward slowly with his voice even, not a trace of concern in his eyes as the Chosen twist her arms behind her back. “Little Bella will have a home with us, here in Eden’s Gate. A place where she will grow, happy and loved amongst the faithful; with the word of God in her heart. She will have a family, but what is a family without the mother who loves her? And a young girl should have her mother, shouldn’t she?”

He shakes his head when Isobel swears a blue streak, struggling and kicking at the Chosen who hold her. He had meant the words both as reassurance and warning, but leave it to the deputy to only latch on to the threat. Joseph turns away, walking ever calmly back through the abandoned church all while Isobel spits threats of violence against him in increasing levels of volume as she’s dragged away.

The Chosen drag her out of the church and into the dirt, flinging her down with so much force that her teeth clack together as she goes face first into the earth.

“Remember, Sinner,” the Chosen from before— the one who exhibited such rage, sneers. “we’ll be watching your movements.”

There’s a strong blow to the back of Isobel’s skull and then the world goes dark, Isobel’s last conscious thought of Bella… and of how she’s going to keep her out of the cult’s clutches.


End file.
